


Thief of Mine

by SleeBea



Category: Legend of Zelda, The Legend of Zelda, breath of the wild
Genre: Aryll - Freeform, Bottom Link, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Chaotic Link, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Gremlin - Freeform, Hurt Link, Link hates Hylia, Link is a twink, Lynels, M/M, Multi, OC Use, OC used for plot, Scars, Yiga!AU, Yiga!Link, longfic, sidlink - Freeform, slow-burn, slowburn, top Sidon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:34:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleeBea/pseuds/SleeBea
Summary: A Yiga!AU fic with roughly 5k words per chaptersidon comes in around chapter 3? i think?pls enjoy
Relationships: Prince Sidon / Link, Sidon / Link, sidlink
Kudos: 33





	Thief of Mine

“Ladies!” Bellowed out an almost comically deep, masculine voice. It echoed powerfully around the arena, eliciting hundreds upon hundreds of cheers from said ‘ladies’.

“Gentlemen!” The voice continued, earning more yells and whoops. Link, from where he was sat, could squint to see the burgundy silhouette of whomever was shouting. He had a broad figure, all attention on him as he spoke from atop a sandstone podium.

“Those who can no longer be classified as either!” That earned the most noise; at least four thousand shrieks and a suffocatingly thunderous applause. The blond Hylian corrected his posture with nervousness although, to others, he seemed nonchalant. Link was sat in a makeshift ‘waiting’ area. It had been carved into the northern side of the thirty-foot tall sandstone structure that was the Ri Noka Arena. Decrepit yellowish walls sported a towering, wrought iron door nestled between two sets of barred windows. The gaps between the bars were large enough for the Hylian to slip through, and almost twice his height. No light sources were placed in the room making it feel unwelcoming, but sufficient stripes of blazing sunlight snuck through the windows to make seeing easy. Above the room lay the cavea: that was where the half a dozen thousand criminals watching the arena were sat. However, the rumbling through the walls and ceiling suggested that, once again, they were more stamping and jumping than just sitting.

“I am certain you all know why we are gathered here on this _mighty_ day!” The crowd silenced itself. “Today marks the fiftieth quinquennial Trial of Courage!”

The blond leaned back against the unwelcoming stone wall behind the bench he was sat on. It was cheap, but did its job. He let his gaze scour the room as he attempted to drown out the ovation of the enthusiastic audience. Fifteen other fighters were scattered around the room. They were varied in all senses except their similar uniforms. Some were muscular, displaying blades that must have taken years of craftsmanship to perfect; others were more athletic and small, gingerly stroking the grip of an old bow. Some clearly had something to prove; others just had no care for their life. At the end of the day, only one of the sixteen would leave the arena alive, and Link had a premonition suggesting who it would be.

“For two-hundred and fifty years, we have watched our people battle. Tonight shall be no different: the Trial takes place in four rounds. Eight battles, four battles, two battles, and then the final. But, foremost, we must welcome our leader.” The speaker waved his arms wildly to gesture towards the nearby balcony. “Master Toshihiro!”

A large man, fully donned in vermillion armour, waved around the space. He was almost seventy years old, old for his race, but he prominently still bled a looming sense of authority. He sat on a large sculpted chair, the same stone as the rest of the structure. To his left sat his wife, expression stern. At his feet situated his two grandchildren: his grandson and granddaughter. Their mother, Master Toshihiro’s daughter, had passed away from sickness many years previous. Link knew nearly nothing about the heirs, only that the male was six years older than him and the female was seven years younger. Both appeared mind-numbingly bored. The family were not kind leaders: they were selfish, angry and treated their subjects as objects. People wanted to despise them, being sick of living in fear, but it was difficult when the family’s method of ruling was admittedly productive. After all, the people got money and were fed. Only a fool would complain about that.

Formalities continued, but Link could not force himself to focus on them. Instead, he turned to a young, feminine figure as she was sitting on the bench next to him. She was, undoubtedly, the scrawniest person in the room. Her head lined up with the boy’s shoulders, her electric green eyes meeting his, shoals of anxieties swimming through her mind coupled with a spark of something else.

“How old are you?” A quiet voice asked, although her face showed she expected the blond to scream at her for asking.

_Twenty-three._ Signed the Hylian, pulling his straw-coloured hair into a tight bun - it would mean putting on his headgear later would be easier. _You?_

The girl did not have a reaction to his silence - many members of their group were the same as him, anyway. She attempted to mimic his action of styling his hair but struggled. Her hickory-coloured hair reached down to the small of her back in untamed yet beautiful coils, like an overgrown forest reaching out everywhere and anywhere. “Fifteen, I know I look younger.” Her words were somber as she gave up with the hair.

_What is your name?_ Link began to pick up that this conversation seemed to be soothing her: her shoulders grew slacker when he kept up the conversation. A child that, simply, needed this more than he did. His question won him a short-lived smile from the girl.

“Aline. A-L-I-N-E.” Aline spelt it out for him knowing that is what he would have to do if he was to sign her name. Her tawny skin glowed in the scraps of light that slipped in. The brunet had a round face, a gentle and timid aura radiating off of her. Her youth was obvious. Link could not help but consider the fact that she should not be here, about to fight until her death or until she has the freight of four other deaths above her head. She should be outside, singing, laughing, living. Aline was not old enough to get married, yet here she was, preparing for a merciless recreational activity used to satisfy sadistic rulers. “What’s your name, mister?”

_Link._

“Link?” She checked, continuing when he nodded in affirmation. “I like that name, Link. It’s simple. Nothing too frilly. Which round one fight are you in? I’m in fight four.”

_I’ll be praying to Hylia for your victory._ She shot him an innocent smile, though her eyes betrayed her, showing how doubtful she was of her own success. _I’m in the second fight._

For a brief moment, the child sat in silence. “I would wish good luck to you too, but I know that’s unnecessary. I’ve heard the stories. You’re more than capable.” Link was stunned. Of course he knew there were tales told about him - he did not live under a rock and news travelled fast. Everyone knew he did what he did well, but to believe he had the sort of capabilities implied seemed absurd. However, he did not want to argue about whether he was truly the warrior the girl thought he was; this was their final moments. This was their death sentence. It should not be so gloomy. 

_Would you like me to help with your hair?_ He mustered a friendly smile, turning to face the girl. Humming a yes in response, she sat herself cross legged on the bench, her back facing the blond. He gently raked his fingers through her hair, pulling sections apart. Aline’s mind wandered to her mother back home, how she would do the same thing for her. Link carefully plaited the hair in front of him. His calloused fingers soothed her scalp. With the skill of a trained spy, he looked around the room again, ensuring no one was watching him this time, before leaning into her ear from behind. Pointed ears twitched at the feeling of hot breath.

“When fighting an archer, aim for their knees and shield your own, you archers always seem to make that mistake.” He whispered. A smirk formed on his lips, one caused by knowledge and experience, but with a slight hint of being so defiant. “Use your bow’s range to your advantage. Don’t let them predict your moves. Arrows can be used as knives too - think creatively.” His lips curled further into a wicked smile, acknowledging the subtle nod she gave him. Once satisfied with the braid, he tucked the end into her armour, replacing his expression with a well-practiced, innocent smile. He was capable of whispering despite how strained it felt on his throat.

“Thank you, Link.” She got up, walking to a pail of water that stood like a sentry in the corner of the room. Aline leant forward, admiring her hair in the reflection before securing her penny-coloured leather neck guard to protect her throat and pulling up her crimson hood. “You’re not like the others, are you?”

Link stood, smiling warmly at the child. _I like to think that._

“And now: the first battle of round one!” The words reverberated through the Hylians, reminding them of what is to come. “Ocas The Great shall battle The Unbeaten Tolam.”

The blond grimaced. The names were not ones he recognised, but he watched as two tall, broad swordsmen stood up in the room. Everyone was silent. They observed the men. It was as if the room was saying a soundless goodbye. The warriors shared a look, nodding respectfully to one another before exiting through the metal doors.

Sighing, Aline rummaged under the bench she was previously sat at. “Will you promise me something, Link?” He looked at her attentively. “If I don’t make it out of here, would you take my bow back to my mother? I... well, truthfully, I miss her. I’m sure the closure will be good for her.”

_Where would I find her?_ Asked Link, not bothering to question why she would assume he would make it out - winning the last Trial of Courage does not constitute a pass for winning all. After all, Link reasoned with himself, he may have been paired with easy fighters.

Before answering, the girl hummed in reminiscence, flinching when she heard blades crashing outside. “A small hamlet down in the southeast of Hyrule - a fishing village called Lurelin.”

_Sounds... nice._

“It’s lovely. So homely, I hope you get to see it one day.” Link’s mind wandered. He was not sure he would even live to see tomorrow, let alone another village several regions away. “I really wanna go home.”

Link had no reply to that. How was he supposed to comfort a homesick child about to risk her life? He had been in her position, or at least a similar one, several times but he still found himself at a loss for words. The brunette picked up her white mask once she had finished searching under the seat. Clumsily, she secured the leather straps of it around her head. Upon instinct, the boy stepped forward, helping her buckle the straps tightly and fiddling with the masks position. After a moment, he stepped back. His vision bore into the red eye painted on the mask, an eye he has seen every day since he was thirteen.

The Eye of the Yiga.

Link was sick of the symbol, it dredged in bad memories more effortlessly than anything else, but it was all he knew. The Clan was his home, his work, his livelihood. In the decade he was a member, he learned with speed to accept this. It barely bothered him colluding with murderers and thieves for there was no difference between them and himself anymore. He infiltrated, he stole, he killed. It was simple.

_You look like a warrior._ He gave the shorter’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. _The uniform suits you, Aline._

“You’re too kind.” He shrugged, pulling his own Yiga mask in front of his face. His uniform was slightly different to hers, his was specially designed by Master Toshihiro, but they shared similarities. “Thank you for... I don’t know, really. For the comfort? It’s been nice.”

_My pleasure._ A scream. It pierced the room, shred the previously calm aura Link was becoming comfortable with, derailing his thoughts immediately. There were cheers, rejoices, cries and, abruptly, he realised the sound of swords clashing had stopped. It was over. Only one of them was still alive. The storm was here. Both Hylian’s scampered towards one of the two windows. A body, beaten and bloodied, was pulled along, being supported by two people as they helped the victor exit. Another, lay sickeningly on the ground, contorted in a way only a corpse could be. Link stood, reaching under the bench for two of his most prized possessions: his shield and his scimitar. They were the accolades that accompanied two of his most serpentine heists. When they were in his palms, the Hylian felt uncorrupted power surge throughout his body.

“It seems to be your time, Link.” Aline observed sadly.

“Our second fight is, undoubtedly, the reason you’re all here! The Champion Link versus The Conqueror!” The blond stood, checking over his armour once again before heading towards the rusted door. Another figure followed him, easily two foot taller than the Hylian; must be a Sheikah man. A broadsword lay dutifully on his hip as he stood by the blond’s side. “Both of them have won a previous Trial of Courage. Both are skilled assassins. Who will triumph?” The doors swung open.

“Link!” Aline’s voice called but he did not dare turn around to see the child. “Link, I’ll see you on the other side, okay?”

Steadily, they walked into the arena. Cheers, whoops, yells reverberated between the walls and Link had to stop for a moment to adjust to the merciless sunlight. Dust danced around the area full of reds and yellows. More announcements were made, yet they sounded like distant murmurs to the boy as he stepped into the centre of the arena. His azure eyes dragged over the crimson splatters already staining the sand. A sigh passed his lips as he stretched his muscles. All talking stopped, the fighters stood five metres apart, and the order was given to prepare yourself.

Link unsheathed his scimitar and brought his shield to his chest. With trained fingers, he squeezed the golden hilt of the blade. It was a familiar act, something he had done so many times throughout his atrocious life that it was almost homely. The boy inspected the serrated silver blade briefly, noting every nook, carving and cranny within the handmade masterpiece. His mind wandered through memories laced with anguish; memories of his triumphs and mistakes. Link’s heart hammered in his head, pulse running hot throughout his body. A voice rang in his mind, once again telling him the three soothing words he loved to hear when facing something to fear:

_Have courage, Link._

Determination flooded the Hylian like a dam had been broken. He was pulled from his own mind by a single, tormenting word. Two syllables pronounced as clearly as possible:

“Begin.”

With that, Link was on the move. His foe was taller and stronger, he noted, but could not match the Hylian’s agility and stamina. The swordsman leaped forwards immediately, darting to close the gap between himself and Link. The blond dashed to the side to avoid the first jab of the silver sword. As the Sheikah recovered from his miss, the boy took the opportunity to swing his own blade smoothly towards the man’s torso. The edge of his weapon met the edge of another in a block. Sword hit sword again, and again, causing clangs and clashes at an unbearable pitch that reverberated as the audience watched with baited breath. The taller changed his tactic, twisting his weapon around the curved sword in front of him with enough speed to pull the scimitar from Link’s grip. It was thrown, cast aside. This was The Conqueror’s opening. He lunged forwards, sword outstretched. A strike echoed louder than the others: Link barely managed to parry the hit with his shield. Next, he scampered over to his blade as his opponent processed his block. With adroitness, he rolled, landing his palm so the hilt found its way back into it.

_Have courage, Link._

He sprinted, slashing angrily at the swordsman. A deep gash formed on the man’s thigh and a second on his left arm before he sliced back. It was too late. Link was already midway through leaping backwards, elegantly flipping in the air, and landing perfectly - his flexibility was a blessing. Link moved his weight to avoid being hit, the taller followed. A blow struck the man’s shins: he had been kicked hard enough to make him fall. The smaller took that as a chance to increase the distance between himself and The Conqueror’s blade. Link needed to change his tactics; he was barely getting anywhere. 

The boy turned to look at his opponent once more, preparing to strategise, when he saw a sight he would never be able to forget. Hilt over blade span the broadsword, thrown by its wielder, heading directly towards Link. Time felt like it halted for the blond. He knew he only had a few seconds, not sufficient time to react, but they felt like eternity. This was it. He was never going home, it seems. He would never see Lurelin with Aline. He would never see his horse again or feel the wind in his hair or swim down the rivers in Faron.

The blade reached him, severing his mask from his head, cracking the ivory thing in two, and plummeting straight into his left eye socket.

He lurched forwards, dust clouding up around him as he fell like a rag doll on his side. Muscles all over his body went slack as a bone-shaking scream echoed through the stadium. Was it his? Link was unsure, he had not felt the hot air pass his lips. Blood pooled from his face, landing in the sand beneath him. With incredulous effort, he opened his right eye, trying and trying again to focus it, but the sun’s glare was sabotaging him. The blurry form of his foe was far away. He thought the audience were making some noise at his falling. However, it sounded to the Hylian as though the world was underwater.

_Have courage, Link._

One shaky breath, then another, but, strangely, Link did not die. His body felt numb, which he was glad for. He took another deep gulp of air, one large enough for some of the onlookers to notice he was somehow alive. They began to chant. It started hushed, just a few people repeating his name, but that snowballed into an avalanche of yells accompanied by stamping. It felt like all of Hyrule was trembling. Link just wanted to shut his eye, to sleep, but he knew he could not give up now. He had to have courage; he had to win. 

The Sheikah man noticed the cheers and quickly crossed the arena to where Link’s body lay in a bloody shadow. He laughed at the boy, crouching down beside him and shoving his chest to show the criminals watching that Link was gone. No one could survive a sword to the face, right?

The push rolled Link on to his back. Right hand landing a mere inch from his golden weapon, the blond grabbed the handle. He did not dare hesitate. In one swift movement, he lifted his dropped scimitar, burying it immediately into The Conqueror’s chest. He pulled it out, and, once again, stabbed the man, leaving his sword as it protruded drastically from his conquest’s chest. Face first slumped the Sheikah as his life drained from him. An exhausted grin played on Link’s lips and he sighed shakily in disbelief, before succumbing to the blood loss tempting him into a slumber.

He won.

*****

“Link? Are... are you awake?” A strained voice whispered. The Hylian’s consciousness wearily sponged back into him. He felt groggy: his body was slick with sweat, his joints ached and his ears were ringing. With closed eyes, he could tell he was in a well lit room. His eyelids fluttered open, taking a second to adjust to the brightness enveloping him. Was he dead? 

“Link?” Carefully and steadily due to a shooting pain that accompanied his initial speed, he tilted his head. There, bedside his bed, sat the smeared yet decipherable figure of Aline. A nervous smile held her lips as she observed him. “Are you with me?”

Wearily, Link smiled back. His throat felt dry and his arms were stone.

“I should get the healer to check you over now you’re awake.” Aline squeezed his hand then stood. “Do you need anything?”

_Stay._

“Link, we need someone to check you over, you were knocked out for two whole days!” The blond winced, memories of his fight crashing down on him. He remembered the blade, spinning tantalisingly slowly, the burn as it burrowed into his flesh, the sand under his cheek as he hit the floor.

_Want company. Need company. Please._

Her gaze softened as she begrudgingly sat back down. Link’s vision finally focused and he got a much better view of her now than in the dismal vestibule. The young girl was no longer in fighting gear. Instead, she wore a simple cream tunic that hung far too large on her petite body. Coils of shadowy hair bounced on her shoulders and on the bed Link was on. Some hair was tucked behind an ear to keep it from obstructing her view. The ear that was on show was bejewelled gorgeously: a gold hoop sat in her helix and a pearl set in the same metal in her lobe. From the pearl attached a thin, golden chain leading to an opal that magically reflected the room’s light. Link had not seen such jewellery since his missions in Gerudo Town.

_I like your... _He trailed off, gesturing at his own plain ear instead.

“Oh? Oh! Thank you! My father came back from a fishing trip once, he said where he went ‘wore these sorts of things as a status symbol’. He insisted I should have earrings too because I’m his little princess.”

_That’s lovely, Aline..._ Link pushed himself slightly more upright in the bed, grimacing at his body’s protest. _What happened after my fight? Where are we?_

“It took a while for anyone to realise you weren’t actually dead, just unconscious. Healers dragged you here, the emergency med-bay. They managed to get the sword out of your, you know, _face_ and stitched the cuts it left on your cheek and forehead. They look bad right now but they’ll heal up nicely. The fights went on.”

Link hesitated, processing the missing pieces in his memory. _You’re still here...?_

She beamed. “Yes! I took your advice and I survived the first round.” A more sincere smile pulled at her lips. “Without you, I’d be dead meat.”

_I slept. You won. I’m proud of you._

“Thank you.”

_When is round two, then?_

She sighed, averting her emerald gaze. “Five days. You’re against that huge swordsman we saw fight. I’m against a foot-soldier with a sickle. Gerudo, I think.”

Something he had not felt in years coursed through Link. Hope. He had hope. He hoped he would survive, he hoped Aline would win the Trial, he hoped they could escape the awful clan they were forced into as children.

“You lost a lot of blood. I have no idea how you’re alive right now, honestly. ‘A few Hearty Elixirs and he’ll be back to training in two days’, or so I overheard. Hylia must really want you alive.” The brunette rested her crossed arms on the bed, laying her head heavily on top of them.

The blond’s brows furrowed. In actual fact, this sort of thing was something he had noticed before. Link had more than his fair share of near death experiences, but, somehow, he always miraculously ended up fine. Was it a test of faith? Was Hylia challenging Herself to see how much she could put him through? He did not know. _I suppose so._

Aline shut her eyes, a tired expression on her face. “I should be training.” Although more to herself, she whispered. Link lifted his left hand, gently petting her head, trying his best to be reassuring. On the back of his palm resided an askew burn. The Eye of Yiga had been branded into his light flesh when he turned sixteen, officiating his allegiance with The Clan. The sight of the scar brought tenseness back into Link’s muscles.

“You don’t have to train constantly to be good. Just train well and use the time wisely when you _are_ training.” He whispered back considering signing would be pointless, ruffling her hair a little playfully. She opened her eyes to look up at him. Something surged from Link’s heart: admiration. He was attached to this girl, almost as if she was his sister, and he was determined to keep her safe. Forest eyes twinkled innocently. “Can I ask something personal?” She cocked her head. “How did you end up here?” He continued to whisper.

“Oh, I asked one of the healers where you were. It wasn’t hard.”

“No, no. How did you end up in the Yiga?”

Hesitation enveloped her momentarily. “Back home, we were suffering with bands of Lizalfos stealing our fish and attacking our people. We grew scared to leave our homes. I got frustrated with being told to stay inside constantly. I grabbed my mother’s bow and ran off. I intended to just stay out for a few minutes, really!” A great look of sadness washed over her like a tide destroying a sandcastle. “I was attacked by four of the Lizalfos at the same time, cornered and scared. A Yiga woman came on to the scene, killed the Lizalfos, and brought me to safety. She said I should join her, learn to be a warrior. I accepted.”

_What will you do first when you go home?_

She let out a breathy chuckle. “Hug my family. Tell them I love them. Swim. You really wouldn’t think desert sand would be that different to beach sand but it is.”

In understanding, Link nodded. The Hylians fell into a comfortable silence. Both of them were homesick, or, at least, sick of their current home. They were never well respected and, usually, they were sleep deprived. It was not ideal. Unfortunately, they had nowhere else to go. Nowhere on Hyrule would be moronic enough to allow residence to stay when they bore the mark of the Yiga so boldly.

_Aline?_ His movements caught her attention, pulling the younger out of her own train of thought. _Is there a mirror nearby? I want to see the damage._

Aline stopped to think about it, remembering how she had seen a sheet of silver being used as a mirror in the hallway. “I’ll go fetch one.” A skip was in her step as she left the room momentarily. It only took a minute for her to work her childish charms on the guardsmen manning the hallway so they would let her borrow the piece. The thing was roughly a foot and a half by a foot piece of jagged metal, sharp and threatening, polished to the point it reflected well. Side stepping through the door with the end of the dish-like shape resting on her navel, Aline smiled. 

“Here we go!” She, albeit a little carelessly, dropped it on Link’s legs. He reflected her smile, fingers tracing the edge of the object. The expression almost immediately fell; the boy had never dreaded his own appearance more. It did not take him long to piece together the fact that he could not see through his left eye: his depth perception was already suffering and his field of vision had lessened. The injured eye was patched. His two sapphire-like eyes were his favourite part of himself. They reminded him of goodness, of his mother.

“Trust me, it’s not that bad.” Aline’s voice was so soft in that moment that it lulled the boy into the bravery he needed. He looked. Oceanic right eye looked normal, if not a little tired. However, the older’s left eye was covered by a square of white muslin. A scar - being bound by multiple stitches stretching from his brow to his cheekbones - peaked from under the bandaging, skin an off-putting cardinal colour. Carefully, the blond reached up, touching part of the scar. A small jab of pain shot through him, but it was not unbearable. “It’ll be hard to adjust how you fight, but I’m sure you’ll manage it. I’ve noticed you often shut your left eye to help your aim anyway.”

Link gently put the mirror back down. His eyes were identical to his mother’s: it was his favourite thing about himself as a child. The reality was his physical appearance and some tainted memories were all he had of his parents left.

“Link...” Aline sighed, taking the metal off the bed. “Rest up, I’ll call for someone to check you over. Gotta get back into fighting shape!”

*****

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s chapter one!  
Like it? Leave a Kudos!
> 
> also pls talk to me on insta @boodle._.doodles  
man im lonely


End file.
